Suicide letters
by The Girl Who Wanders
Summary: What if Sherlock stashed away letters to be discovered after his death? What would they say to those he holds dear- such as John, Lestrade and Molly- and how would he ask them to move on? My first published story in little under six MONTHS. The genre lies. There is little comfort in this story- it is quite a big angst-fest. Enjoy!


_I am sorry for my long absence- please thank school, homework and depression for that. I can't believe it's been so long and I've left you all hanging! I'm sorry! I cannot promise regular updates, as unfortunately for the next four solid years I have exams, exams, and more exams. These all decide what I can eventually do for my career so obviously I need to devote time and effort to my courses._  
_Right, onto business. This is a rewrite- I did have another story virtually identical to this, but reading through it today meant my laptop was in serious danger of being thrown at the wall. I can't believe how badly worded and wooden it sounded, so I chose to rewrite it. It was forever and a day ago that I wrote it (Note: read 'A year ago') so hopefully my new found maturity will bring more depth to the story *cue laughter*._

_Thank you for your time and putting up with my shenanigans!  
-L_

* * *

Molly,

A phone call wouldn't have been enough. An email, in my opinion, is terribly unprofessional and a text is frankly rude. I want you to realise that I have actually taken time out to write these for you; well, not you, but everyone I realise was important to me.

This, right here, what you are reading, is my suicide note to you.

I have no idea how you put up with me for all these years, Molly; you were the woman who wanted to be so much more but ended up in a morgue with only dead bodies for company. Before you knew me entirely, you told me about your hopes and wishes and dreams, many of which were still unfulfilled, and it made me uncomfortable.

I would be bitter after that. I think most people would be. You, however? You always smiled. You always were warm, friendly, and compassionate. Why? I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that everything you wanted had taken such a major backseat due to the fact that you cannot be selfish. You were- are- remarkable.

I remember when we first met, you know. I know that you replay it over and over again, but the whole scene is still set in stone. You heard of a recently OD'd 'PI' had come specifically to your morgue to view a body of a recently deceased man in his late thirties.

Well… technically I broke into your morgue first, and you found out about me second, but our whole meeting was still the same.

_I_ hadn't noticed you- you were as quiet as anything- and as I was rummaging around in the draws trying to find the information on the man you've come behind me and smacked me in the head with a metal tray. Knocked me out cold, and remember that Lestrade had to come and rescue me also after you secured me to the support pillar? I always said your height verses your strength was very misleading after that. It was also incredibly embarrassing. Good job.

After Lestrade put in a word, you accepted me without question, and did every little thing I asked. You ensured in your company I ate and promptly ignored my insolent behaviour, while I didn't care one whit about yours. I never realised your worth until it was too late. All the harsh, abrasive words that I can never take back, all the times I made you cry and every time I ignored your self-esteem in favour of my ego makes me feel ill.

One thing I remember clearly in our time together was that Christmas when I came in to view 'Irene's' body. You told us both that, even though it was Christmas, you had been 'busy' with the work. But you sighed. It suddenly clicked- you were an actual person, someone who wasn't 'just' Molly the Lab Tec or Pathologist. I realised that that actually meant you were alone at Christmas and honestly had nothing else to do but cater to the whim of a pathetic, melodramatic detective and his shady brother. That really stuck out. You aren't 'just' anything.

This letter has become a bit of a reminiscent and I'm sorry. Sitting here, knowing my death is looming near, I remember every kind thing anyone has ever done for me and how cold I was to it.

The last thing I remember? You telling me that you 'don't count'. How wrong, Molly. You do count, you've always counted. To hear from you that you think that I don't view you of any worth must reflect on how I have treated you; I hold you in high regard, I always have. I'm so sorry for everything.

I'm sorry I used your attempted advantages as fuel to manipulate you. I'm sorry about Jim. I'm sorry that you will feel guilty about this, about 'not seeing the signs', but please try not to be upset. If it means anything, try not to be upset for me. I'd hate to think that even after my death I am causing you pain, because that is not my intention. Quite the opposite.

One thing I'm sure of is that you will meet someone who isn't like me, or Jim, or any other man that has dared treat you any other way than what you should be. You will find such a person, I am sure- perhaps you already know him.

Live the life you imagined you would, Molly. What you become is up to you.

Sincerely,

Sherlock Holmes


End file.
